


i’m gonna melt the fever, sugar

by imagines



Series: AMDAO Verse [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Healthy Relationships, M/M, Otabek speaking French, Polyamory, Religious Imagery, light kitten!Yuri, mixed metaphors, play collaring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 03:50:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11959104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagines/pseuds/imagines
Summary: It just makessense. That’s what J.J. keeps repeating to Bella, anyway, while they pore over finances for the season in general and the Rostelecom Cup in particular. Paper spread all over the dining room table, numbers swimming across the expanse of white, making his head hurt. He hates this part.“It does make sense,” Bella confirms, which is roughly what Yuri had said when he’d texted J.J. yesterday:why waste money on some fancy-ass hotel when beka and i have this fancy-ass apartment you could crash at?And that’s another thing J.J.’s been turning over in his head—the fact that Yuri, and not Otabek, was the one to contact him.





	i’m gonna melt the fever, sugar

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s some AMDAO-verse otapliroy written for the 2017 YOI Shit Bang! You can hover over the French for translations—or if that doesn’t work, I’ve also added it to the endnotes.
> 
> Art by @mari-sinpai, who is amazing and fabulous and I maaaay have screamed when I found out she was drawing for my fic. ;)

It just makes _sense_. That’s what J.J. keeps repeating to Bella, anyway, while they pore over finances for the season in general and the Rostelecom Cup in particular. Paper spread all over the dining room table, numbers swimming across the expanse of white, making his head hurt. He hates this part.

“It does make sense,” Bella confirms, which is roughly what Yuri had said when he’d texted J.J. yesterday: _why waste money on some fancy-ass hotel when beka and i have this fancy-ass apartment you could crash at?_

And that’s another thing J.J.’s been turning over in his head—the fact that _Yuri_ , and not Otabek, was the one to contact him. After all, Yuri’s the one J.J. is competing with in this leg of the Grand Prix. And he’d assumed Otabek had been teasing when he made that crack about Yuri taking a shine to J.J. But in any case, they’ve all been in touch occasionally since Chris’s epic farewell last season, so maybe it’s not _that_ strange.

“Things are a little tight this year anyway,” Bella reminds him. “We could save on a hotel now and get something nice when I come out for the final.”

“You don’t feel weird about—all this?” J.J. waves his hands vaguely around himself.

Bella stands up and comes around the table to kiss him. “What, all your lovers? Of course not. Do you feel weird?”

Lovers? J.J. ducks his head, heat spreading across his face. He supposes that’s what they are, not that he’s talked about it much with them. Probably he should. “Yeah, I do, but it’s like…a _good_ kind of weird.”

“I love it,” she tells him. “You’re the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”

“I’m happy with you, you know.” He needs her to know this—needs her to understand completely that none of this is about replacing her.

She bends down, wrapping her arms around his chest and resting her chin on his shoulder. “I’ve never doubted you, baby.”

~

J.J. takes an evening flight, succeeds in sleeping through most of it, and reaches Moscow late the next afternoon. He’d told them not to pick him up; that he didn’t want to put them out and could find his own way. Anyway, he has their address, so all he really has to do is find a taxi.

Yuri answers when J.J. knocks, but he doesn’t say hello. He doesn’t say anything, actually, nor does he open the door wide enough for J.J. to enter the apartment. He leans against the frame, propping open the door with one bare foot. His hair is loose, brushed smooth, and incredibly long—a waterfall of gold cascading over his shoulders. It looks like he might not have cut it since the last time J.J. saw him.

“Hi,” J.J. says finally. The straps of his backpack are cutting into his muscles, and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Fifteen hours in the air—all he wants is to sit down somewhere comfortable.

Yuri taps his fingers on the doorframe, studying J.J. He’s wearing a turquoise satin nightshirt that stops several inches above his knees, a black lace choker, and absolutely nothing else.

The choker has a tiny pink bell on it, and a silver tag J.J. can’t make out. He swallows hard. “Um—”

“Well, get in here.” Yuri ducks out of the doorway, and J.J. has to catch the door before it swings shut in his face.

Yuri’s walking away from him, and the back of his nightshirt is nothing but sheer mesh fabric; and if he’s wearing panties, J.J. wouldn’t know for sure, because he’s too busy staring at his own feet as he follows Yuri. But they might have been lacy and pink.

“Jean-Jackass Leroy has arrived,” Yuri says to Otabek, who’s lying on his back on the living room sofa. Like Otabek can’t see that.

“J.J. Hey.” Otabek gets up, and there’s an awkward moment where they’re sizing each other up for either a handshake or a hug, and then Otabek opens his arms wide.

It’s been ages since he last held Otabek like this. Not even at Skate America last year, because although J.J. had been naked and trembling in front of him and frantic for his touch, somehow a hug would have felt far too intimate and uncomfortable. He’s missed this more than he realized. The memory of their time as rinkmates had lodged itself deep under his ribs like an enormous splinter, and he’s spent years ignoring the ache of it. With Otabek’s arms locked around him now, the pain explodes to the surface once again, eased by hope yet intensified by proximity. It comes in waves, and it’s all J.J. can do to hold back the raw, wounded noise welling up in his chest. Whatever is happening between them now is like the first delicate layer of ice forming on a lake, thin and transparent and ready to shatter at the slightest pressure. So he won’t put any weight on it; he will remain calm and let it grow in strength. If it’s even going to.

Otabek draws back; claps him on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you, man.”

“Yeah, you too. Thanks again for having me.” J.J. hopes he’s following the correct script. Otabek really does seem pleased to see him, so J.J. must be doing all right.

Otabek takes him on a quick tour of the apartment while Yuri puts the finishing touches on the dinner they’ve made. After eating, they all sit on the couch, Otabek in the middle, and flip through movie options.

“You’ve never seen _Kingsman_?” J.J. exclaims, when Yuri vetoes his suggestion.

Yuri wrinkles his nose. “You’ve never seen _Cats_. You have no room to talk, and no _taste_ either. Otabek, you pick: dumb spy movie or mind-blowing musical?”

Otabek plucks the remote from Yuri’s hand and scrolls more. “ _Fury Road_ ,” he says finally. “Can we all be happy with that one?”

J.J. nods really, really hard.

“Ugh.” Yuri slouches deeper into the couch, nestling against Otabek’s side. “I _guess_.”

“Right, because when we saw it in a theater, you didn’t jump up at the end yelling that you needed to see it again right that minute.”

“I would never do such a thing,” Yuri says primly. “I don’t like car movies.”

J.J.’s jaw drops. “It is not just a _car movie_!”

Yuri opens his mouth to retort, but Otabek holds up his hand. “Why don’t we all just sit back and enjoy this lovely film that happens to contain _a lot of cars_ but also a plot.”

Five minutes in, Yuri’s already got his hand on Otabek’s knee, moving up his thigh millimeter by slow millimeter. Thirty minutes in, Otabek stands up to fetch them all beers; J.J. stretches hard, yawning, and drops one arm along the back of the couch. Yuri glowers at him, not taken in by the classic “oops, you got up, and now my arm will be around your shoulders” trick, but J.J. doesn’t move.

Otabek returns, passing out cold, damp bottles. He eyes J.J.’s arm, but he says nothing, just sits down again and leans back against the cushions. So what if J.J.’s arm slips foward a little bit? Otabek doesn’t move away from his touch. They’re very comfortable, that’s all.

Onscreen, the War Rig stumbles to a halt in the mud, and J.J. realizes he hasn’t been paying one damn bit of attention for a long time now. Yuri’s hand is now wrapped around Otabek’s upper thigh, and although Otabek looks as impassive as always, J.J. thinks he can detect a faint flush on his cheeks. He extends his fingertips and finds the silk of Yuri’s hair, a fleeting touch, but enough to make Yuri lean forward and look at him.

Then Yuri flings his legs over Otabek’s thighs so his feet end up in J.J.’s lap. J.J. doesn’t question it. Instead he wraps his hands around one of Yuri’s feet and presses his thumbs into the arch. He hears a groaning sigh from Yuri and fights back a smile. Apparently even a despised rival can provide an unsurpassable foot massage. He works at the sore muscles until Yuri’s feet are warm and relaxed, and after that, absentmindedly strokes his palms up and down Yuri’s bare calves until the movie ends.

Otabek guides a half-dozing Yuri off to bed, and J.J. stretches out on the couch. It’s long and soft, and they’ve made it up for him with really nice sheets—yet some time passes and J.J. still finds himself folding and unfolding his legs, turning onto one side and then the other, and even trying flat on his back for good measure. All the movement disturbs Yuri’s extremely fluffy cat, who’d tried to fall asleep on top of J.J.’s ankles but gave up and stalked away to its owner’s room instead.

It’s not that J.J. can’t get comfortable. It’s that he can hear them. Low voices in their bedroom at the end of the hall, and a strip of dim light at the bottom of the door. They’re not even having sex or anything, as far as J.J. can tell, but every now and then there’s a laugh from Yuri, and after awhile, J.J.’s feeling pretty lonely. He shoots Bella a text: _miss you, babe. what are you doing right now?_

Within minutes he gets a selfie from her; she’s at the mall closest to their apartment. _hunting for your bday present!! I miss you too. <3 how are you?_

_I don’t know if this was a good idea_ , he tells her.

_did something happen?_

_no. I don’t know, I’m probably just overthinking all this. I should sleep though—I have practice in the morning._

_goodnight, love. keep me updated. xx_

~

The day before the short is like any other day before a competition, except J.J.’s practicing at a rink with his worst rival, and several times Yakov has to come stalking over to tell them to quit throwing “advice” at each other that’s really just a lot of thinly-veiled insults.

J.J.’s never had so much fun before any other competition, and that night after dinner, he relents and lets Yuri show him _Cats_. Which is exactly as weird as he expected, but doesn’t actually suck. He’s going to have “Memory” stuck in his head for days, though, which _could_ be some sort of weird sabotage designed by Yuri to distract J.J. from his actual program music.

“I’m going to bed,” Yuri says after it’s over, getting up off the couch. “Coming, Beka?”

“Yeah.” Otabek goes to follow him, but just before leaving the room, he stops and turns. “You know, if you’d rather not sleep on that couch again…”

“I wanna beat you fair and square tomorrow,” Yuri adds. “Not just because you threw out your back.”

“Oh,” J.J. says, trying to process the implication. “Do you mean—are you offering—”

“It’s a king-size mattress,” Yuri says. “Memory foam and shit. Are you coming with us or not?”

J.J. isn’t at all sure where this is going, but it’s late and his brain is offline and his mouth has gone dry, so he doesn’t ask questions. Silently, he stands and follows them to their room.

The light is low and golden. Yuri twists his shining hair into a bun, glances at J.J., and strips off his jeans before crawling into the middle of the bed. J.J. has to take several very deep breaths before reaching for his own belt.

They actually do just sleep, though, with Yuri curled up between them, facing Otabek. But all night J.J. can smell Yuri’s jasmine-scented _whatever_ that he’d showered with, and he wakes up to Yuri giggling at him, because (fuck) he’s hard. And he’s wearing only boxers, so it’s obvious. “It _happens_ ,” J.J. mutters. “Don’t act like it’s never happened to you.”

Yuri nods. “Totally normal. Wouldn’t claim otherwise. Just. You know. Good morning to you too.”

“Yuri, that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t get used to it. I have to kick your ass in the short today, remember?” Yuri doesn’t bother letting J.J. get up first; he just climbs over J.J. to get out of bed, and J.J. is fucking _positive_ that Yuri takes longer and touches him more than is strictly necessary while doing so.

~

At the rink, the three of them move up and down a hallway together. Jogging. Stretching. Waiting. When finally it’s time for them all to separate, Otabek squeezes Yuri tight in his arms and kisses him. “ _Davai_ ,” he whispers, as he’s done for years, a wish for luck between the two of them so well-known that every news broadcast mentions it, every time: the anti-rivalry. The new top-competitors-in-love story. It’s sickeningly adorable and the audiences eat it up.

J.J. coughs. “You gonna kiss me too?”

He’s joking, and Otabek laughs, but Otabek also says, “Why not?” He pecks J.J. on the cheek. “There’s enough luck to go around.”

Yuri rolls his eyes. “It’s not just luck you need.”

“Right, you need skill as well. Which I have in _spades_ , Yuri.” J.J. blows him a kiss and waltzes off to take the ice, where he promptly places above everyone who’s skated so far.

Yuri skates last. Despite all of J.J.’s smack-talk, he’s still shocked when the final scores come up and he’s actually ahead of Yuri by almost a full point. If this were another time in their lives, he’d expect Yuri to kick a wall or punch a locker or something, but nothing like that happens. In fact, Yuri’s very quiet when Otabek drives them all back to the apartment, scribbling point values on a piece of notebook paper and occasionally muttering to himself. But J.J.’s not worried; all he has to do is skate in the free like he did today. He has every ability to beat Yuri here, and they both know it.

While Otabek’s making them all tea to soothe their nerves before bed, J.J. makes the mistake of telling Yuri that last part, and everything Yuri must have been holding in check all day comes spilling out.

“God, sometimes I just want to _slap_ you,” Yuri spits.

It sucks the breath right out of J.J.’s chest. He’s fallen into space, lost all his air, whirling in this weird orbit. A dark planet to Yuri’s blinding sun. “So do it, then.”

“What?” Yuri’s mouth hangs wide open. There’s leftover lip gloss still on his mouth. J.J. tries not to think about it too much.

“I mean it.” This is probably a bad idea, but he’s never not gone straight for Yuri’s buttons. “Slap me, Yuri. Do it hard.”

Yuri looks over at Otabek, who only shrugs. His anger has evaporated and all that’s left is bewilderment. “You want me to…”

“Yeah. I do. Let me know if I should bend down so you can reach.” J.J. lets a little glint of a smile creep across his lips.

That last comment does it. Yuri lunges at him, already drawing back his arm; J.J. braces himself, squeezing his eyes shut—

It’s loud and it hurts and he stumbles backward a couple of steps. “Jesus Christ, Yuri.” He prods at his face experimentally; his skin is warm where Yuri’s hand landed, but it’s fine. He’s fine. He’s really fucking hard, much worse than this morning, but he’s fine.

  
[[larger size](http://oi68.tinypic.com/2ppj31l.jpg)]

Somehow, Yuri seem much smaller now. “Did I—was that too hard?”

“Wow, you’re worrying about me? It’s a Christmas miracle.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Yuri snarls.

“Aww. You care.” J.J.’s cheek stings; he wonders if it’s red. If Otabek can see it from where he’s leaning against the counter across the kitchen. He likes that idea more than a little bit—Otabek checking out a mark Yuri left on him.

Yuri’s shaking his head, his nose wrinkled. “I can’t believe you _liked_ that. Weirdo.”

J.J. _tsks_ at him. “Says the one who loves playing pussycat. Don’t judge and I won’t either.”

“That’s—rrrgh!” Yuri’s hands are fists at his sides.

“Want to slap me again, maybe?” J.J. suggests. “Oh my god, don’t give me that look. You liked it too. Just look at you.” He drags his gaze slowly down Yuri’s body. Yuri’s back in his crazy little nightshirt, which isn’t doing a damn thing to conceal his reaction to this whole situation.

Yuri rounds on Otabek. “He can’t just talk to me like this!”

Otabek sips at his mug of tea. “Looks to me like you’re handing him just fine, kitten,” he says placidly.

J.J. stares at Otabek. Is he actually teasing Yuri? It’s always been hard to tell with Otabek, and he hasn’t had nearly enough practice recently.

“Oh, fuck _both_ of you!” Yuri spins around and marches out of the kitchen.

J.J. turns to Otabek, a little worried. “Should I apologize?”

Otabek raises one perfect eyebrow. “What for?”

“Um. I don’t know, going too far teasing him?”

“Oh, no. He’s not mad that you teased him,” Otabek informs him. “He’s mad he liked it.”

“You sure about that?”

Otabek sighs. “He needs to talk to you himself, but it’s not like I can make him do it.”

“About what?” J.J. frowns.

“He’ll tell you. Or he won’t. But—like I said the last time—”

J.J. can’t help the blood rising to his cheeks. _Last time_ , when Otabek had made a mess of him.

“—don’t think you aren’t wanted here, J.J.”

When had Otabek moved so close to him? J.J. sets his tea down carefully, not breaking eye contact, and then Otabek is leaning in, and J.J. finally catches on what’s happening here.

“If you want to,” Otabek says quietly, “you can.”

“Oh,” J.J. says, and “oh” again into Otabek’s mouth. It’s only a moment long, and then he’s blinking at Otabek, stunned. “What was that for?”

Otabek shrugs. “Just glad you’re here is all.”

This _thing_ can’t just meander around until J.J. leaves. He refuses to go home with no explanation and a hundred times more confused than before. He grabs his tea again; it is a tiny, fragile sort of shield, but it’s better than nothing. “Otabek. What are we doing?”

“We’re rebuilding,” Otabek says, without hesitation. “And you can still call me Beka. If you want. I liked it back then.”

“You know, I never really understood what happened. Why we stopped being friends.” The two of them are picking at the splinter now, and J.J.’s ready. It might hurt worse for a bit while they dig it out, but then, maybe, it’ll quit tormenting him for good.

“Nothing bad happened. And I was never mad at you. Just, you moved rinks, and I moved countries, and it all petered out.”

“I liked you a lot. I thought we were good.”

“We were.” Otabek reaches out, grasping J.J. by the shoulder. “I can’t think of anything that went wrong, except maybe we didn’t try hard enough. I know better now.”

“I fucking missed you,” J.J. tells him. “I was a little mad at you. For awhile, I mean. Not anymore.”

“So we’re good?” Otabek asks, and the last fragment of the splinter slides free.

“We are very good.”

After they finish their tea, J.J. follows Otabek down the hall to the bedroom again.

Yuri, dozing under the blankets, opens one eye when they enter. “Took you long enough.”

“We had some stuff to talk about.” Otabek slides in next to him and presses a kiss to his forehead.

“Finally,” Yuri sighs, yawning. “You’ve only been moping for years.”

Otabek groans, shoving his face into Yuri’s shoulder. “Go back to sleep, would you?”

J.J. can’t help laughing. “Moping, huh?”

“I will tie knots in your skate laces. Both of you.”

~

During the free skate, Yuri scores a new personal best, and J.J. can’t even be manage to be pissed about dropping firmly into second place. “You!” he yells, when Yuri glitters his way over to him and Otabek. “You looked _beautiful_ out there!”

Yuri stares. “Why are you so happy I won? Now you have to face me in the final.”

“Because it’ll be an honor. As always.”

“Shut up,” Yuri says, almost automatically. “It’ll be a bloodfest if I have my way.”

“I am certain that you will.” J.J. can’t wipe the grin off his face; he was trounced today, but fairly, and it _was_ beautiful.

~

That night, Otabek and Yuri go to bed early. And obviously that’s fine, even if J.J.’s heart sinks a little upon realizing they won’t be hanging out much more before his flight the following day. Of course there’s no reason for him to sleep in their bed again, since there’s no need to save his spine for a competition. So he distracts himself with packing up his shit for the trip home, or tries to. He likes the look of his hoodie hanging up beside theirs at the door. He likes the kitchen sink with three tea mugs in it. He’d like all of this to last longer, somehow, and it’s just not possible. And it has to be okay like that.

But about an hour later, when J.J. is folding the last of his clothes, he hears Yuri’s voice growing louder from their bedroom, speaking faster, and Otabek’s soothing tone trying to keep up. Then: “Fine!” he hears Yuri shout, and everything falls quiet. In a few minutes, Otabek comes padding down the hall, holding Yuri’s hand. The two of them are in their underwear and that’s all. Yuri looks like he thinks he’s doomed.

“Yuri has something he wants to tell you,” Otabek says, nudging Yuri forward.

J.J. can see Yuri’s ribs rising and falling; his breath is coming fast. Yuri does not take his eyes off his own bare feet when he mutters something, his toes curling into the carpet.

“Don’t tell the floor.” Otabek places one palm on the back of Yuri’s neck, thumb stroking the choker gently. “Tell _him_.”

“Yuri, what is it?” J.J. keeps his voice soft and level, because Yuri looks like he might bolt back down the hall at any moment.

“You can do it,” Otabek murmurs to Yuri. “You’ve been thinking about it for so long. Go ahead, say it.”

Yuri steps closer to J.J., wrapping his arms around himself as if holding himself upright. Otabek’s hand falls away from his neck. He takes a deep breath. “I want you to fuck me.”

J.J. is vaguely aware of a ringing in his ears. Whatever clothing he’d been holding has fallen to the floor. It doesn’t matter. “What?” he says, stupidly, because of course he heard Yuri; he just doesn’t _understand_.

Yuri turns pleading eyes on Otabek. “I am not saying it again!”

“No, I—” J.J. stands up. His whole body feels leaden; nonetheless, he’s about to vibrate out of his skin. “I heard you, Yuri.” He takes a careful step toward Yuri, who stands his ground. Time contracts, and J.J.’s not sure when he crossed the room, but now he’s cupping Yuri’s jaw in one hand, staring into Yuri’s burning gaze. Like looking at the sun, it’s unwise yet transfixing. “You really want that?”

“I don’t know _why_ ,” Yuri growls. “I just, I can’t get it out of my head, and you want to, right? So I thought—” He can’t finish his sentence.

J.J. slides one arm around Yuri’s waist, and Yuri lets himself be drawn close. “Yeah, I do want to,” J.J. breathes. “You’re like fucking lightning. You burn me up.” He speaks the last words against Yuri’s lips, and then Yuri presses his mouth to J.J.’s.

Otabek makes a small noise low in his throat, and then he’s coming up behind Yuri, catching him between them, his hands on Yuri’s hips and his mouth on Yuri’s neck. “Yura,” he purrs. “My sweet kitten. You can always tell us what you want. It’s okay.”

Yuri’s very curious cat tries to follow them into the bedroom, but Otabek shuts the door. Instantly, the air changes—a heavy stillness settling over them, and J.J.’s fairly buzzing with anticipation. He remembers this feeling from the hotel. He didn’t really understand then what was happening. But he knows more now.

Yuri goes to sit on the end of the bed, crossing his legs at the knees and leaning back slightly, his hands braced behind him.

Otabek touches J.J.’s shoulder. “I should ask you,” he says, not taking his eyes off Yuri. “Do you have any objection to collars?”

“What, like—” J.J. touches his throat.

“Yeah. Just for him, if it wasn’t clear.” One corner of Otabek’s mouth twitches upward.

It’s not something J.J.’s ever really thought about, but the idea doesn’t bother him. Yuri’s waiting silently, eyes closed, choker stark against his throat. Waiting for him to make the call, J.J. realizes. “It’s fine, I don’t mind,” J.J. says, and Otabek smiles.

“Thank you. I’m sure Yuri appreciates it.” Otabek walks to their dresser and pulls it out of a drawer: a collar, black like the choker, but made of a thin band of leather instead of lace.

Yuri’s eyes snap open at the faint jingle of the buckle. When Otabek approaches him, he lowers his head, exposing the back of his neck.

Gently, Otabek trades collar for choker, slipping a finger underneath when he’s done, checking the fit. “Does that feel okay?”

Yuri nods. J.J. can see his breathing has slowed, become steady and rhythmic, as if the collar anchors him and prevents him flying off into space.

Otabek kneels on the soft carpet at Yuri’s feet, gazing up at him. “Yura. Undress, please.”

Yuri’s breath hitches. He grasps the hem of the nightshirt and draws it up past his thighs, stomach, chest, shoulders; revealing himself like a priceless painting, slow but unfaltering, until his arms stretch up over his head and the shirt is off entirely.

“Lovely,” Otabek whispers, trailing one fingertip up the inside of Yuri’s leg, stopping just short of the crease of his thigh. “J.J., want to come join us?” He looks over his shoulder at J.J., and it’s like a hook catches somewhere around J.J.’s navel, burning him, drawing him along a line toward the two of them.

He has no idea how to go on from this point, and he left his voice somewhere over by the bedroom door, and Yuri’s looking up at him with his deep-sea eyes. If J.J. takes another step he’ll fall right in, and who knows what he’ll find beneath the waves?

He takes another step.

Yuri reaches out and grabs him by the wrist. “Touch me.”

This ocean is on fire, J.J. realizes too late; the flames licking up his legs like demon tongues, or is it angels? It feels so fucking good. If there’s a fiery sword awaiting him, he’s prepared to risk it. He lets himself be pulled forward, down, stumbling over his own feet and landing half on the bed and half on Yuri’s lap, his knee between Yuri’s legs. He looks down at Yuri’s cock, thick and hard against Yuri’s belly and shining wet at the tip. “Um—”

“Are you freaking out?” Yuri asks. Then he shakes his head. “You’re freaking out. Okay.” He winds his fingers into J.J.’s hair at the back of his skull; pulls until the pain flashes like a lighthouse. Leading J.J. through jagged rocks back to shore. When he makes it there, he touches Yuri’s knee.

“I’m good. Thanks.”

Yuri shrugs. “No problem.”

They end up making out on the bed, J.J. flat on his back and Yuri straddling him, pressed against J.J.’s thigh.

“Fuck, get these…” Yuri mutters, working at the buckle of J.J.’s belt. “I wanna see you.”

J.J. swallows. “It’s nothing to get that excited about.” Not that he’s, you know, severely lacking or anything, but. In comparison. Well.

“Don’t do that.” Yuri frowns at him. “You think I give a shit? Neither of us are gonna care when it’s in me. So. Don’t.”

“Okay, okay, oh _god_ —” J.J. stammers out, because Yuri’s sliding down his legs and taking J.J.’s pants with him. He strokes J.J.’s cock almost lazily, lingering at the underside of the head, rubbing little circles until J.J. can’t help the noises he makes.

“I could blow you,” Yuri muses. “Or Beka could. Would you like that?”

“He—what—” _That_ hadn’t been offered as an option, and it’s not like J.J. had been presuming, so. He looks down to the end of the bed, where Otabek is now perched and watching quietly. “You want that?”

“ _Oui, je te veux_ ,” Otabek says, grinning. And then he’s slinking catlike up the bed, all sinew and sly eyes, to lie next to J.J., leaning up on one forearm. “Jean-Jacques,” he breathes, hot against J.J.’s shoulder, and gooseflesh prickles all over J.J.’s skin. Otabek’s accent is as good as ever. “Jean-Jaques _, je veux embrasser ton jolie bite._”

There was a park J.J. went to as a boy, with a gigantic hill perfect for sledding in winter, and for rolling and somersaulting down in summer. He threw himself down this hill in as many ways and seasons as he could, landing at the bottom dizzy and laughing and struggling to his feet as soon as he could hold his body upright. All to climb back up and do it over again.

It’s been many years since he felt like that, but Otabek murmuring gentle vulgarities has sent him spinning once more.

“ _Je veux te baiser._ ” Otabek slips his fingers underneath J.J.’s t-shirt and slides it gently upwards. “ _Je veux t'embrasser. Je veux faire l'amour avec toi.”_

Isn’t that just like Otabek, to begin like a wildfire and then soothe the burning down to glowing coals. Most people go the other direction. The image flashes into J.J.’s mind of the coathooks on the wall by the front door. In less than twenty-four hours, he’ll take his hoodie down and leave. He closes his eyes tight. “There’s no time for all of that.”

“There’s time for this.” Otabek’s mouth is soft against J.J.’s. “And this.” The hand under his shirt splays wide on his stomach; J.J. feels his muscles jump against Otabek’s palm. “And…this.” Which is when Otabek shuffles backward on his knees, gets between J.J.’s thighs, and wraps his soft, terrible mouth around J.J.’s cock; and oh, oh _shit_.

Pretty soon J.J.’s got the sheets all knotted up in his fists, and he’s cursing under his breath, and that’s when Yuri says, “Beka, don’t let him come yet.”

Otabek pulls back, patting J.J.’s hip. “Yeah, save the rest for Yuri.” And J.J. wants to curse _him_ but he’s also really, really distracted by Yuri lying down next to him and pulling at his arm.

“Come on, come on, _please_ ,” Yuri says, and that’s enough to stop J.J. from complaining. He drags his shirt over his head instead.

“Where’s—oh,” J.J. says, as Otabek pushes a small bottle into his hand. “Okay, yeah, okay—”

Yuri stretches up and kisses him quick with a _smack_. “Hey, we talked about the freaking out, didn’t we?”

“Yeah.” J.J. stares at the bottle. Any moment now, Yuri’s going to laugh and tell him he’s being stupid, which he is, he already knows it. But when he looks at Yuri’s face again, there’s only understanding in his eyes.

“The first time I did it, my hands were shaking so bad I think I got more lube on me than in Beka.” Yuri snorts. “And it all worked out. It’s fine if you don’t want to, we can do something else.”

“I do, I really do want to. Just—” Honestly, he can’t put words to whatever anxiety is wracking him now. What is he even afraid _of_?

“Remember how it felt?” Yuri asks, and J.J. shivers. That feeling like stars falling inside him…

He pours lube onto his fingers, and Yuri whimpers when J.J. finally touches him. Which is encouraging. For awhile he’s transfixed by the sight, the _sound_ , of his fingers sliding lazily in and out; Yuri’s shoving himself hard against J.J.’s hand, so wet and open. Then J.J. remembers that thing Otabek did to him, and he presses up and rubs hard, and Yuri thrashes so wildly J.J. almost gets a knee to the face.

“J.J.” There’s laughter hiding under Otabek’s words, just like there’d been before every prank they ever pulled on J.J.’s sisters. J.J. hasn’t heard that veiled mirth in so long. “Don’t let him come yet.”

“Fucking _hell!_ ” Yuri groans, but J.J.’s already pulling his hand back.

The next part’s more familiar. Yuri pulls his knees up to his chest and says, “You should fuck me now,” and J.J. is about to comply, but Otabek leans down to Yuri and says:

“Ask him nicely, kitty-cat.”

Yuri turns red from face to chest, glaring. “Oh my god, fucking _fine_. Okay.” He takes a deep breath, the strain of dragging the words to the surface visible in his clenched jaw. “ _Please_ fuck me,” he tries.

“Holy shit,” J.J. says, and then he’s bracing his hands on either side of Yuri and pushing in slow, his own thighs trembling.

Yuri’s breath shakes out of him. “I hate you,” he whispers; gasps really, and J.J. leans down to kiss the corner of his mouth. The movement pushes him deeper and Yuri’s mouth falls open on a silent cry.

“The feeling is not mutual.”

“That’s because you’re a fucking idiot.”

“Mmm. Maybe,” J.J. concedes. He runs his palms down Yuri’s arms; his slender build conceals shocking power beneath his skin. Yuri’s built like a whip—long, thin, and delicate, but if you blink he’ll make you bleed. “But I like myself this way. And I like you how you are, too.”

“Shut up. Fuck you.” Yuri’s hands fly up to cover his face, but J.J. gently takes hold of his wrists. Yuri doesn’t pull away.

“I like you,” J.J. repeats. “Deal with it.” When he lets go of Yuri’s wrists, he’s half-expecting to get slapped again, but instead Yuri grabs onto his shoulders and hangs on tight. J.J. can feels Yuri’s nails digging in. Maybe it’ll even leave a mark. The slick velvet heat around his cock is unbelievably good, and he tells Yuri so. “You feel incredible, I could fuck you like this for hours, I wanna do this again—”

Yuri moans, rolling his hips; J.J.’s hitting him deep on every thrust. “You fucking _better_ do it again.” His eyes are like sea-glass, razor edges softened.

J.J. chances a glance at Otabek, but he’s doing just fine, curled up near them with his jeans open and his hand shoved inside. He grins when he catches J.J. looking. “Don’t stop on my account.”

Yuri’s writhing under him, desperate and pleading, speaking in broken demands. “Please, fuck,” he gasps. “Let me—god, I need—”

J.J. braces himself with one hand and grasps Yuri’s cock with the other, because it’s time to have mercy. He makes it fast, not fancy, and it’s barely half a minute before Yuri’s spilling all over J.J.’s fingers and his own stomach. He’s going to pull out, but:

“Don’t,” Yuri commands, grabbing J.J.’s hips and holding him inside. “In me.” Even though he’s breathless and whimpering from too much sensation.

So J.J. does what Yuri tells him, burying his face against Yuri’s throat and whispering muffled, embarrassing things against his skin, until he’s shuddering and coming hard. Yuri sighs as J.J. finally slips free.

J.J. rises to his knees. This isn’t his bed; he’s not certain how to proceed. His skin is humming. “I should finish packing,” he says.

Yuri paws at his shoulder. “Do it in the morning. Lie down, stay here.”

“We’ll drive you to the airport,” Otabek offers. “Save you some time.”

They end up with Yuri in the center, J.J.’s arm draped over Yuri’s waist, Otabek nestled against Yuri’s other side. Yuri falls asleep in minutes, but Otabek’s breathing hasn’t evened out yet. “Otabek,” J.J. whispers, and then, remembering it’s okay again, “Beka.” Otabek murmurs acknowledgement, and J.J. steels himself in case the answer isn’t what he hopes for. “What are we now?”

Otabek lifts his head slightly so J.J. can see his gentle smile. “I’m looking forward to finding out.”

“Okay,” J.J. says softly, feeling tension slide out of his body. “Okay. Hey, Beka?”

“Yeah.”

“I was wondering…when did you learn to say all that in French?”

“Montreal,” Otabek says.

“What, when you were staying with my family?”

“Of course.”

“ _Why_ did you learn to say all that?”

The little smirk on Otabek’s lips suggests all manner of shenanigans. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would, actually.”

“Maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll tell you sometime.”

~

Yuri pushes a travel mug of steaming coffee into J.J.’s hands the next morning. “Drink,” he orders. “So you won’t be too sleepy to find your connecting flight.”

Otabek’s already by the door, hand resting on the latch. “Ready to go?”

J.J. sips at the coffee and goes to pull his hoodie off its coathook. It’s not so bad, now that he knows it won’t be the last time it hangs there. “Ready,” he says, and the three of them walk out into the cold gray morning light.

**Author's Note:**

>  **French to English:**  
>  _Oui, je te veux_ \- Yes, I want you  
>  _Je veux embrasser ton jolie bite_ \- I want to kiss your pretty cock  
>  _Je veux te baiser_ \- I want to fuck you  
>  _Je veux t'embrasser_ \- I want to kiss you  
>  _Je veux faire l'amour avec toi_ \- I want to make love to you
> 
>  
> 
> • title from Shiny Toy Guns - Le Disko
> 
> • come say hi @ [tumblr](http://meimagino.tumblr.com/) :)


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